


Little Bit of Sweetness

by egocentrifuge



Category: Mythical Entertainment, Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Sick Fic, There is a kiss, entirely indulgent on my part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 01:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18272825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egocentrifuge/pseuds/egocentrifuge
Summary: “What the crap, dude?” Link croaks. “Do I look that bad? Did you and my doc have a chat I don’t know about and I’m terminal after all?”Link’s expecting - LinkwantsRhett to get tetchy in response. He knows himself and their dynamic well enough to admit that.What Rhett does is take a seat on the other end of the sofa and look Link over carefully before asking, out of left field: “Did you have breakfast?’





	Little Bit of Sweetness

At first, Link thinks it’s because one of the kids got hot during the night and turned the air conditioning up. He has the record of the deed in his Nest, could check the security footage to see which one of the little rascals did it, but he’s too tired to be bothered right now. He’s still got half his coffee left when he makes it to work - a skipped day at the gym will mean he’s sore tomorrow, but he can’t bear the thought of exercising when his throat’s this raw and scratchy. It’s less about preserving his voice - they’re not filming today - and more his taste buds that have him dumping out what’s left in his thermos in favor of tea and honey.

That’s what tips Rhett off, gotta be, because Link’s a consummate professional and not sulking with his hood up on the sofa when Rhett gets in after pilates.

“Oh no,” he says, rosy-cheeked and so unbearably  _healthy_. “You sick?”

“Good mythical morning to you too, brother,” Link mutters. He’s got a headache building in the center of his face and he doesn’t  _want_ to be sick right now, damnit. Doesn’t want to be sick ever, in general, but especially not during a planning week. Doing episodes is easy, cathartic; once the camera goes on, the rest falls away. Sitting in an office with Rhett for hours on end, however, is difficult. Even more so if Rhett’s on his case for sniffling or coughing or whatever other hell awaits him.

It’s hard enough being sick when you’re surrounded by those properly sympathetic to your plight. It’s a whole ‘nother beast being sick when your only company is  _Rhett._

By the time Link drags himself out of his pity pile his tea’s gone cold, which he doesn’t realize until he’s taken a big swallow of tepid and oversteeped rooibos. His cringe and sound of disgust are automatic.

“Here.”

Link nearly upends the mug over his laptop when Rhett’s suddenly  _there_ , hand outstretched. Link’s expression must convey some of his affront, because Rhett offers him a half-smile and raised eyebrows.

“Give me the mug, Link,” he says, slow enough to be insulting. “I’ll warm it up for you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, Link nonplussed, Rhett unusually serene, before Link complies with a mulish, “I don’t want it, don’t bother. Left the teabag in too long.”

Rhett glances at the paper tab. “There should be some lemon tea, I’ll get you some of that.”

Before Link can ask what’s gotten into him Rhett’s gone, and Link is left blinking after him instead of reading through their editor’s notes. He’s only just managed to shake himself out of it and get back on track when Rhett’s suddenly at his elbow again, mug in hand.

The entire situation - Rhett getting Link something without prompting and needling, Rhett not being a complete ass - is throwing Link off, so he doesn’t remember his manners until he’s already taken a sip.

“It’s not hot,” he accuses, in lieu of  _thank you._  Rhett glances over from where he’s already back at his desk.

“Put an ice cube in it so you could drink it now instead of forgetting about it again. D'you want me to heat it up?”

Link tucks the mug closer to his chest protectively. “No.” Rhett turns back to his work, and Link should follow his example, but he’s starting to suspect foul play.

“Is there something in this?”

“Yeah, honey.”

“No, man, I mean - you dosing me?”

Rhett snorts without looking away from his screen. “With what, Theraflu? I remember you spewing that shit across our dorm, I’m not making the same mistake twice.” And then that’s it, Rhett keeps working.

Link scowls at his back, off-balance from more than just his blocked sinuses. What the hell had gotten into Rhett? He was being all - nice.

For a brief moment Link considers texting Jessie to ask if Rhett’d been replaced with a newer, more considerate model, but just as quick he realizes how insane it is that he’s getting mad over Rhett being in a generous mood.

_Get it together, Neal,_  he tells himself, firm, and buries his nose in his laptop again.

But the thing is - when he finishes his tea, finally sets it down for the first time, Rhett gets up without a word and takes it. Leaves the room. Returns, five minutes later, with another cup.

“What the  _crap_ , dude?” Link croaks. “Do I look that bad? Did you and my doc have a chat I don’t know about and I’m terminal after all?”

Link’s expecting - Link  _wants_ Rhett to get tetchy in response. He knows himself and their dynamic well enough to admit that.

What Rhett  _does_ is take a seat on the other end of the sofa and look Link over carefully before asking, out of left field: “Did you have breakfast?’

"Did I - no, Rhett, it feels like a wasp up and died in my throat, I didn’t  _eat breakfast.”_

Rhett nods, like Link’s following some script he hasn’t had a chance to review but Rhett knows by heart, and pulls out his phone.

_“What_  are you doing.”

“Texting Josh, seeing if he can make you some soup.”

“Texting - ” Link stops himself, mug raised halfway to his lips, and puts it back down in disgust. Or, well, he lowers it. The heat feels nice against his hands, alright? Sue him, he’s sick. “What’s gotten into you?”

At this point Rhett’s non-reactions and valid point about Link’s frustration being of the hangry variety have taken the wind out of Link’s sails; the question’s more rhetorical than anything. But Rhett finishes his text and meets Link’s eyes and the look there draws Link up short where he’d been trying for the sip again.

“I’ve been thinking. About us.”

Link’s already aching throat protests as he swallows. “Nothing new there. That’s kind of how we make our living,” he says, trying at levity. Rhett doesn’t stop looking between Link’s eyes intently, seemingly searching for something. Link screws his face up. “Just say what you mean, man.”

Rhett doesn’t hesitate. “I love you.” The sheer bluntness is more than Link can muster right now; it takes him a beat to open his mouth to return the familiar words with the mood as strange as it is. Before he can make himself say them, though, Rhett raises his hand to stop him.

“Writing Bleak Creek’s made me think about how it could have gone different - with me and you, I mean. I’m just… trying it on, today.” Rhett breaks eye contact as he stands and Link sits up straight in a panic.

“Do I have a fever?” he blurts. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Rhett stops mid-step with something between a smile and a grimace. It’s - almost a relief for Link to realize he’s managed to get on Rhett’s nerves again. He tries to keep the streak going when Rhett reaches out with the back of his hand, leans to avoid it as best as he can.

“Not like that.” Link’s got an idea, now, burning beneath his ribs hotter than the fever that he might, okay, actually be running. “L-like our mommas did.”

He meets Rhett’s eyes in challenge, sees his own uncertainty reflected there.

“You said you were trying it out,” Link adds, more quietly. “Try it out, then, brother.”

Rhett’s hands come down on either side of Link to brace Rhett as he leans down, slow and careful, to press his lips to Link’s forehead. His beard tickles something awful and it’s a useless gauge anyways - Link can feel that he’s blushing.

Still, when Rhett pulls back, his face is soft, and Link feels a door in his mind he’d long since threw away the key to swing open unexpectedly.

“Drink your tea. I’ll get you some ibuprofen or something.”

“Make Josh get it,” Link demands. “W-we gotta actually get some work done today or I'mma be pissed I came in at all.”

It’s a hollow threat. Link can’t bring himself to regret anything.


End file.
